Drawn Together
by MrsMCrieff
Summary: A light bit of fluff. Molly has a new hobby and Sherlock is bored. It's a Sherlolly fic with plenty of smut in later chapters. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

**So after the hard work of my last story (crimes are always hard work) this is a bit of light fluff. I'm dedicating it to my good friend Lilsherlockian1975 she has supported me and advised me and been my unfailing cheerleader and although we've never physically met I count her as one of my best friends. She's been feeling ill recently so I hope this helps to perk her up.**

 **It's rated M because there will be smut and a lot of it in later chapters...that's all Lil's fault as well.**

 **I own nothing but am eternally grateful to those who brought Sherlock, in all his guises, into our lives.**

 **Chapter 1**

Molly Hooper had always enjoyed sketching. At school, when she had been choosing what GCSE's to take, Art was the one frivolous subject she had allowed herself; tucked away in amongst all the sciences that she knew she had to take to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. She even liked to think she was rather good at it. At least her Art Teacher had believed so and had encouraged her as much as she could.

Molly had reluctantly had to turn down taking A Level Art though as she had had to concentrate her efforts on her career. As she had made her way through University the hours were so long and the work so demanding that she had no longer had the time to dedicate to her drawing and it eventually became all but forgotten. Just a couple of old sketch pads stuck in a bag at the bottom of her wardrobe.

That had all changed a few days ago when she had seen an advert about an adult evening drawing class at her local Further Education College.

Molly had hummed and hawed but in the end she had plucked up the courage to make her way there, in her lunch hour, for the open day. She had surprised herself with how nervous she was as she went in to enquire about the times and costs but the staff were really warm and welcoming and she found herself signing up and paying her deposit before she could get cold feet and change her mind.

That afternoon, in work, she was buzzing with excitement which soon caught the attention of one Sherlock Holmes. He had been trying to work on his latest cultures but was increasingly distracted by Molly who was almost dancing around the lab organising her work. He tried to ignore her at first. Then he tried to deduce her and when all that failed he had no other option but to ask her.

'Molly for God's sake enough is enough. Why exactly are you so exuberant?'

Molly spun around looking embarrassed almost as if she'd forgotten he was there. Sherlock felt a tickle of irritation at that thought.

'Oh..err..nothing. I mean, no reason. No reason at all.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, 'well clearly there is a reason. Since you got back from your long lunch you've been practically buzzing with energy. You didn't come back with any new purchases and given your lack of attention to your phone, even though you received two new text messages in the last hour, you didn't meet or make a date with a new man. So what is it?'

Molly was about to tell him when it occurred to her how much more fun it would be to keep him guessing. So instead she smiled at him almost slyly, 'no...no, I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to figure it out for yourself.'

He frowned at her, 'why on earth would I want to waste my time doing that?'

She smiled again, 'I'm not saying you should. I'm just saying I'm not going to tell you. It's up to you if you choose to spend time on it.'

With that she picked up her files and exited the room. Sherlock watched her go feeling a stab of frustration. He huffed and settled himself back down to his slides. Of course he wouldn't waste his time on such a trivial problem. Molly Hooper was of no interest to him whatsoever.

A little voice niggled at the back of his mind that that wasn't true. He tried to ignore it but it was no good he tried to work on for another hour but he just couldn't regain his concentration at all. He glanced at his watch sub-consciously noting that Molly's shift had finished half an hour earlier.

In the end he threw on his coat and scarf and made his way back to his flat in Baker St. He contemplated whether he should call in and see John but decided against it. Last time he'd arrived after six it had apparently been Elizabeth's bath time and Mary had happily forced him to take part.

He had no issue with being part of Elizabeth's life, in fact he was looking forward to charting her growth and intellect based against that of her parents, but bath time had been particularly fraught and he'd ended up very wet which he'd strongly suspected had been more due to Mary than Elizabeth.

As he entered Baker St. he rolled his eyes at Mrs Hudson shouting, 'is that you Sherlock?'

'No, it's the King of England. Who else do you think it might be!?'

She came out of her flat wiping her hands on a tea towel. She'd obviously been baking given the flour on the edge of her sleeve. Sherlock had to admit he hoped it was his favourite biscuits that she'd been making.

'Queen of England, dear.' She replied smiling.

His brow furrowed, 'what?'

'We have a Queen of England not a King. Do you want a fruit shortcake biscuit? They're fresh out of the oven...or are you too busy?'

'Well...' He looked up the stairs as though he had a case waiting but they both knew he couldn't resist one of Mrs Hudson's fruit shortcake biscuits.

She smiled and patted him on his arm. 'Tell you what, you go up and relax and I'll make you a nice pot of tea and pop a couple of the biscuits on a plate. I'll be up in a minute.'

Sherlock knew he'd have to put up with her company for at least twenty minutes but to be honest it suddenly felt better than another evening rattling around an empty flat by himself.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The next day he'd forgotten all about the conundrum of Molly Hooper. He tried to find something to do with his time and occupy his mind but it seemed as though London and life in general was conspiring against him.

It was late September and deadly, mind-numbingly quiet. Not only were there no cases or murders on his radar at the moment but Lestrade had even had the audacity to go on holiday!

Then to top it all John had texted him earlier to explain that Elizabeth had come down with chickenpox and whilst it wasn't serious he had determined to stay home, with Mary, and keep at eye on her. The term 'precious first born' floated through Sherlock's mind as he read the text and he rolled his eyes as he restrained himself from flinging his phone across the room in frustration.

He'd eventually been forced to go through his own emails to see if there were any private cases worth his time but there was nothing; at least nothing worth getting dressed for. And why in God's name did people continue to think he'd be interested in following and photographing their unfaithful partners. If they were that untrusting and or infidelious they may as well just get divorced and be done with it. In fact marriage and all its failings should just be outlawed once and for all. Pointless, sentimental rubbish.

It got to after lunchtime and it was only the fact that he was running the risk of Mrs Hudson coming up to check on him which finally had him showering, dressing and heading out of the flat to Barts. He had nothing particular to do there but he lived in hope of Molly being able to relieve his boredom by highlighting an unusual autopsy or even letting him help her with some tests.

As he pulled the door too on Baker Street a black car rolled to a halt in front of him. He closed his eyes in mute frustration knowing exactly who it was and just for a moment he contemplated walking away and ignoring him.

The blacked out window hummed down, 'there's no point ignoring me brother, I'll just follow you to Barts so you may as well get a lift there at least.'

Sherlock rebelliously stuck his hands in his pockets for a couple of moments before relenting and climbing into the back of the car.

Mycroft had slid over to the far seat and Anthea, his PA, sat opposite him on a small fold down seat; their knees almost touching but not quite.

'Mycroft, what brings you all the way to Baker St? No wars to keep you busy?'

'I have plenty to keep me busy at the moment. It's you I'm concerned about Sherlock. Things seem a little...quiet at the moment. Do I need to worry?'

Sherlock snorted, 'what, that a lack of cases will send me sliding into another drug induced coma. No brother, I've learnt my lesson there.'

A sudden memory of Molly slapping his face had Sherlock almost reach his hand up to rub his face but Mycroft arching an eyebrow as he deduced his younger brother had him quickly returning it to his lap.

'Anyway, I'm not completely bereft of work. I'm continuing my study of tobacco ash and have various experiments on the go at Barts.

Mycroft's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, 'ah yes...Barts and the delightfully attentive Ms Hooper. Are you sure you're not putting yourself in harm's way by spending so much time there...with her?'

Sherlock gave Mycroft his most withering look, ' **Doctor** Hooper is nothing more than a good friend and a useful asset, not that my relationship with her or anyone else is any of your business. Especially given your own weaknesses.' His eyes flicked to an oblivious Anthea still busy tapping on her phone. He was rewarded with seeing Mycroft's lips flatten into a tight line and the tips of his ears turning red.

'Just let me know if you need help Sherlock. I worry about you and so do our parents. It wouldn't hurt you to ring them every so often.'

The car drew to a halt outside the main entrance to the hospital and Sherlock had rarely been happier to see it. 'Thank you for the ride Mycroft. Don't feel the need to check up on me again though, I'll be fine.' He walked away wishing he felt as convinced by his own words as he had sounded.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

He checked in the labs first but found them empty so instead he carried on down to the morgue. He wasn't sure why but after his run in with Mycroft he felt strangely unsettled and he felt as though he needed to be with someone who could wash the feeling away.

As he pushed through the double doors it was a relief therefore to see Molly. She was clad in her familiar regulation white lab coat, her hair braided over one shoulder with her goggles on, deep into an autopsy on a grossly overweight man who had no doubt died from some form of heart disease.

She glanced up at the noise of the intrusion and her face broke into her normal grin at the welcome sight of him. 'Hey Sherlock, what brings you here today? Do you have a case coming in? I haven't heard anything about it but I'll be free soon.'

He took off his scarf and coat and threw them over an empty trolley. 'No, no case. Lestrade is still away and most of the other detectives won't call me, at least not unless they get desperate. I thought I'd come over and see how my experiments are doing and whether you've had any interesting deaths but I see this one is very run of the mill.' He glanced down into the open chest cavity as he spoke seeing all the expected signs of a massive heart attack. He sighed would there be nothing to excite his interest today.

Molly grimaced, 'no, sorry. It's all been very same old same old today, nothing different.' She hesitated before continuing, 'I do have to run a couple of tests though on some samples from a previous body, for toxins, possible case of asbestosis, if you'd like too...I'm sure you're too busy though...' She tailed off, glancing up at him briefly as she carried on working.

Sherlock was equally nonchalant as he replied, 'well, I could spare an hour or two, just to help out...if you've got a lot on.'

Molly smiled to herself knowing she'd guessed correctly that he was bored and looking for something to occupy him.

'Well, like I say I'll be done here in a minute. Why don't you get us both coffees and I'll meet you up in the lab?'

'Me?'

Molly glanced up at him again with her eyebrow raised, 'yes, you! You're a grown man, a Consulting Detective no less. I'm sure you can deduce where the kettle is. Mine's milk, one sugar.'

With that she flicked on her voice recorder and started reciting some of her findings, effectively dismissing the slightly startled Sherlock.

 **A slow start but setting the scene. I'll update mid-week**


	2. Chapter 2

**You know what, it's a rainy boring day here and I figured I'd treat us all by posting the next chapter. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 2**

Sherlock did indeed manage to find the kitchen and Molly was pleasantly surprised with the quality of her cup of coffee. She'd have to be firm with him more often it seemed.

They worked seamlessly together for the next hour as they always did. She liked having Sherlock in the lab, he was always interesting even when he was being obnoxious, especially as he now refrained from being too obnoxious with her.

After most of the tests were done Molly succumbed and made them both another drink and they chatted for a short while about John and Mary and the baby whilst they awaited the results.

'I'm surprised you haven't had children yet Molly. I deduced you wanted them soon after meeting you but that was almost six years ago now.'

'Yes well you kind of need a man if you want to have kids...ideally that is...and I've always been a traditionalist. I don't just want the kids I want the guy and the marriage too.' Molly knew she was blushing as she spoke. There was only one reason why she wasn't married with children and he was sitting right in front of her, seemingly completely oblivious.

'Well, I can't commend your previous taste in men Molly, maybe abstinence is for the best.'

This had Molly frowning, 'it's a bit boring though isn't it. I mean I don't want to go through the rest of my life alone and unloved, let alone the fact that I'd miss the sex.' Now she almost wished the ground would open up and swallow her. How on earth had they come to be having this kind of conversation?

'It's not as though the need for sex can't be suppressed though and sublimated into work and you are neither alone nor unloved Molly, you have lots of friends.'

'But it's not enough Sherlock. Don't you ever feel lonely...need companionship? Didn't you need it today when you came here?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to refute what she was saying but he found himself not wanting to lie to her. Instead he stood and started to pick up his things. 'I'd better be getting back, I'm not completely at a loss for things to do you know.'

He seemed defensive and knew it so he tempered it by adding, 'I see from the time that your shift is over. May I walk you out?'

Molly glanced at her watch shocked by how much time had passed. 'Oh yes, I need to leave on time it's my...oh, that's right I'm not telling you am I?' She smiled at him slyly before looking away to tidy up her work.

And just like that Sherlock's interest in Molly's secret activity was piqued all over again. He cast a glance over her but couldn't glean anything new. Given their last conversation it wasn't a new man, nor was it something related to work. Some kind of evening activity, maybe a dance class.

As his mind worked through the options Molly retrieved her coat and handbag along with a shopping bag which she was careful not to let Sherlock see inside.

He smiled as they walked towards the lift, 'being buying something for your activity Molly?'

'Maybe.'

Unfortunately for Sherlock she was using a recyclable canvas bag and not a shops own plastic bag so he couldn't tell where it might have come from.

'I do hope Sherlock that you're not going to do something as clichéd as following me this evening because that would be a bit beneath you wouldn't it?'

He looked sideways at her and they both smiled, 'well, it is a stock in trade of a normal detective but as you say maybe a tad beneath my abilities. I'm sure I'll figure it out another way.'

As they made their way out of the main entrance of Barts Sherlock turned to her and looked down into her eyes, 'well, enjoy your evening Molly Hooper.' He hesitated a moment and then bent to kiss her cheek. She felt warm and comforting and for a moment he felt himself wanting to linger over the kiss. He pulled back feeling a little confused but still pleased to see her shy smile and her blush at his attention; it seemed she still had something of a soft spot for him.

'You too Sherlock.'

She turned and walked away as he watched for a moment. He walked on and made his way to the taxi, waiting patiently nearby for a passenger, cursing the fact that Molly had preempted his plan to follow her that night. Now he had to find a different way to solve the puzzle.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The next day Sherlock decided to go in around lunchtime to see if he could catch Molly during her break, maybe there would be some extra clues. He found her just as she was reentering the morgue making her jump.

'Jesus, Sherlock. What are you doing skulking around? I didn't think you'd be coming in today.'

Sherlock smiled in glee, already having deduced her secret. He took her right hand causing her to take a sharp intake of breath as he held it up between them turning it back and forth slightly.

'I see Ms Hooper that you have taken up drawing.'

She frowned, 'dammit, how the hell did you work that out?'

He touched his forefinger to her index finger, 'smudges of graphite on your finger including an indent from a pencil. If you'd been writing with the pencil the smudges and indent would have been on your thumb or forefinger. No, your index finger shows you have been sketching...drawing.'

Molly pulled her hand away feeling amazed and peeved that he had worked it out so fast. 'Humpf...well done. Yes, you're right. I signed up to a local class to refresh my skills. I haven't drawn anything in years though.'

Sherlock followed her as she made her way through the morgue and into her office.

'Well that's not true is it? I've often noticed you doodling and knew you had a talent. I should have realised that's what it would be.'

Molly glanced round surprised, 'oh, yes. I suppose you're right. I do often find myself doing that.'

She picked up her latest file and exited the room to find the matching body. Sherlock leant on the doorframe and frowned, 'wait, aren't you going to show me one?'

'One what?' Molly unlocked the door to the tray she was looking for and started pulling out the body of an elderly woman.

'One of your sketches of course, honestly Molly, keep up.'

Molly's eyes widened, 'what? No..no I'm not going to show you. You'd just...'

'What, Molly, what would I do?' Sherlock folded his arms over his chest suddenly feeling a little hurt at her not trusting him with this.

She waved her hands, 'I don't know, say something mean, tell me I've got the perspective all wrong or something. Anyway, they're personal.' She finished, a little lamely.

The conversation was just serving to make him more curious, 'what kind of personal?' He moved forward helping Molly transfer the body to one of the autopsy tables.

'Personal personal...oh I don't know Sherlock how many kinds of personal are there.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but just then his phone started to ring. He fished it out of his pocket curious to see a Scotland Yard number.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

In the end it all turned out to be a bit of a bust. It only took Sherlock ten minutes with the body to work out the cause of death, the motive and the murderer. It had hardly been worth his while leaving Barts and now he had no real excuse to go back.

He walked back to Baker St, glad of his coat given the way the temperature was dropping off as evening came round. He made no excuse for popping into a newsagents on the way to buy some cigarettes; he needed something, anything to take the edge off his boredom. He'd only been partially honest with Mycroft the day before; this inactivity was driving him mad, he desperately needed something to occupy his mind.

That brought him back to thinking about Molly. She'd become a much bigger part of his life over the past few months and he was relying on her more and more to fill the gap that John had left when he'd moved out. He'd even recently thought about asking her to share Baker St. with him as John had. He knew she struggled to cover all her costs. London was an expensive place to live if you were single and not splitting the costs at all.

He hadn't though, at least not yet. Something was holding him back and he wasn't quite sure what. There was a certain level of nervousness there but he couldn't work out why. Why on earth would Molly make him nervous?

He lit one of the cigarettes and stopped for a moment in the middle of the street as he inhaled deeply, his eyes closed and his head tilted upwards. He let the nicotine work its way through his system, feeling the immediate high and the welcome buzz in his brain. He exhaled, feeling better.

Thinking of Molly brought him right back to her current hobby. He wanted to see her pictures. Telling him they were personal meant nothing, it just made him want to see them even more. He looked at his watch. It was 6.20pm. Molly would be at home by now. It was a Wednesday evening which meant there was little chance of her going out so no chance of him being able to break into her flat and sneak a peek.

He contemplated going back to Barts, maybe she'd left her sketch pad in her office. It didn't seem likely though. She'd only attended her first class the day before and she'd been practicing in her spare time at work which meant she would be keen to carry on at home. That was probably what she'd be spending the evening doing.

He stopped dead in his tracks causing a total stranger to barrel into the back of him. That was it. He needed to surprise her at home, maybe he could get a glance of her work then. He just needed to come up with a good excuse for going round.

Twenty minutes later he was knocking on Molly's door holding a hot packet of chips.

He had to admit Molly looked more than a little shocked to see him and immediately tugged self-consciously on the vest top she was wearing with what looked like an ancient pair of pink jogging trousers.

'Sherlock! What are YOU doing here?' She looked behind him as though he might not be alone or there might be some evidence to explain his presence.

He took a breath and plastered a smile on his face as he marched past her into the small but cosy flat.

'The case meant I was in the area and given the fact it was painfully easy to solve and still early I thought I'd pick up some chips and eat them here whilst they're still hot. Don't worry I bought enough for you too.'

He glanced around the front room and then went into the kitchen and was pleased to see Molly's art book and pencils open on the table in the corner of the room. He bee lined towards it aware that Molly was right behind him.

He didn't have time to see much. As he set the chips down next to the book she leant around him and slammed it closed. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Molly who was blushing furiously. 'Anything wrong Molly?'

'No, no nothing. Let me clear this away so we've got space to eat. Plates are in the cupboard above the kettle.'

She quickly gathered up the stuff and hurried out of the room leaving Sherlock even more curious than he was before. Her reaction had been more marked than he would have expected. And he hadn't seen enough of the picture to know what the issue was. It looked like a hand, nothing unusual there. Given her job he'd expect her to have an interest in drawing aspects of human anatomy. No, he needed to get a closer look. Didn't look like he'd get much of a chance tonight though.

He had planned to eat and run but as they sat in her small settee and ate they ended up chatting about a paper that Molly was writing for her peers based on a recent case of his and when he finally glanced at the clock he was shocked to see that it was after midnight. He found himself honestly thanking her for an enjoyable evening and walking away from her flat feeling strangely happy for the first time in days.

 **I love a clueless Sherlock not really realising what his feelings for Molly truly are. He might be the World's Only Consulting Detective but he's not very good at deducing his own heart is he ;). Let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, I'm back again. This week has been a long one. Thank God it's Friday!**

 **And talking of gratitude thank you all for your reviews; they mean a lot and I'm so glad you're enjoying this little offering.**

 **Chapter 3**

A couple of days and a short case later found Sherlock indulging in a spot of very minor crime. He arrived at Barts mid-morning and checked through the windows overlooking the morgue establishing that Molly was busy carrying out an autopsy. It was then child's play for him to make his way to her office unobserved and break in using his lock picking kit.

Once inside he re-locked the door and pulled the blinds in order to give himself a few uninterrupted moments to find what he'd been looking for.

He found it eventually in the bottom drawer of her desk. Her art book! He smiled to himself gleefully as he pulled it out and laid it on the desk. He smoothed his hands over the cover and then opened it.

The top sheet was a perfectly good drawing of an anatomically correct heart done in pencil. He was quite impressed with her style and accuracy though even to his untrained eye he could see a few areas that needed some practice and rework. She'd signed and dated it in the bottom right hand corner. But this wasn't the picture he was looking for.

The next couple of pages had various exercises in different lines and shadings. Page three was of her coffee mug and on the next page was the inscription, 'Sorry Sherlock. Better luck next time. Molly x'

His mouth fell open as he read it and he sat back in her chair with a huff. Dammit, she had known exactly what his plan had been the other night and today she'd foiled it. Molly Hooper had outwitted him. He found himself a little impressed but he was determined to catch her out. More than ever now he needed to see those pictures.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Five thirty saw Molly leaving Barts with a scarf wound around her neck and a large carry all bag slung over her shoulder. She glanced around herself as she left the hospital and then set off on foot towards Blackfriars tube station.

The weather was fine but a little chilly, it made following her both easier in that he could see her and harder in that she could also spot him if she were to look for him. Not that she would recognise him easily as he was currently dressed. He had gone with a very casual look; jeans, t shirt, chambray shirt and jacket with a cap and sunglasses as well as earbuds which led to nothing but made it look like he was listening to music.

Anyhow, once he'd figured she was heading towards the tube station he could afford to fall further back knowing he could catch up with her as they got closer.

A small part of him was disappointed with himself at stooping so low as to have to follow her but he didn't care anymore and at least this mystery was keeping him occupied which was more than could be said about any other aspect of his life at the moment.

He had to get a little closer in the tube station to be sure he knew which direction she was heading in. Luckily he always carried an Oyster card for this kind of event so he didn't have to waste time buying a ticket. Getting on the train without being spotted was harder but honestly Molly looked to be in a world of her own and once on the train she took out a book and was lost in that.

Sherlock stood at the other end of the same car standing near the doors tapping his foot to his imaginary music and trying to ignore the girl sitting across from him who was smiling and trying to catch his eye. Why must everyone be so obsessed with sex? How did they even function?

He was curious now about where Molly was going. It was neither in the direction of her flat or the college near to her flat where he presumed she was enrolled for her course but when they got off at St James's Park he made an educated guess that it was the Tate Gallery on the side of the Thames.

He proved correct in his deduction and he followed her at a discreet distance as she made her way through the entrance and into the body of the building.

It was harder in here as there were surprisingly few people wandering around. She made her way slowly through various halls stopping occasionally to look at one piece or another always with Sherlock shadowing her as unobtrusively as he could. Eventually she came to a hall with various sculptures. Again she spent some time viewing them but this time she ended up sitting on a bench next to one particular piece and started to get out her sketch pad.

It was a familiar sculpture, even Sherlock knew what it was; Rodin's The Kiss. He glanced at the brochure he'd picked up on the way in, finding the entry and reading:

 _The blend of eroticism and idealism makes it one of the greatest images of sexual love._

He looked back up at the sculpture of a naked man and woman clasped in an embrace and kissing. It wasn't the original that, he knew, was held in Paris. This was a smaller copy but he had to acknowledge it was exquisite. He'd never really spent much time looking at art work, it seemed such a frivolous and wasteful use of one's time and intellect but now he was here and watching Molly he had to acknowledge it made him feel...well he wasn't quite sure but he felt a certain fascination with it.

It certainly surprised him that this was the piece she had chosen to draw. He'd expected something more medical, anatomical, especially given the heart he'd already seen. This seemed so base and erotic. He had never really thought of Molly in those terms before. To him she was science and purity, the clean white and silver of the morgue, the crisp white lab coat.

He suddenly found his mouth was dry, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest and he couldn't take his eyes off her; the noise of his own blood rushing in his ears.

He came back to himself with a start and twisted away leaning against the wall breathing heavily. What the hell was the matter with him? He suddenly needed to get away; to put as much distance between himself and Molly as possible. As he walked away he wondered if he were coming down with something, which might explain the almost feverish sensation that he'd just suffered. He'd feel better when he got home.

The problem was he didn't feel better, not even a little bit. His mind kept going back to that moment in the gallery. It was seared into his mind. The nakedness of the statue, the erotic intent of the kiss and Molly, it was all wrapped up in his head like a tangled knot and even retreating to his mind palace didn't seem to help.

He eventually fell into a disturbed sleep on the settee waking in the early hours feeling restless and filled with a nervous energy. He rooted out the cigarettes from the other night and sat at the open window trying to get some satisfaction from the nicotine. Even he wasn't brave enough to face Mrs Hudson's wrath by smoking without the window open. She'd berate him enough for this.

After the third his mind felt a little calmer and he tried to order his thoughts. He was obviously sublimating his boredom onto this new hobby of Molly's. He just needed to find the art book from Wednesday night, see the drawing she hadn't wanted him to see and that would be that. He could delete the whole sorry experience.

He glanced at the clock, 5.20am. He contemplated breaking into her flat whilst she was sleeping but even he realised that that was not good. No, it was a Saturday, he knew her routine. She'd have a lie in and then a long lazy soak in the bath. Then after she'd go and do her weekly shop before meeting up with some friends in the evening for some kind of night out. Perfect. He'd break in when she was out for the evening, it would give him plenty of time to find the book and be out of there before she got home.

That just left him with a day at home and nothing to fill it.

He found himself wandering the streets of his beloved London, listening to the sounds, inhaling the smells and catching up with various key members of homeless network. He had spent two long years away and it still sometimes felt like a dream that he was back, even more so after the nightmare of the previous Christmas when he had thought he would have to give it all up again. He remembered those three days, the pained negotiations with Mycroft, the stilted conversations with John, Mrs Hudson's tears on his shoulder as she'd hugged him goodbye.

The one person he had said nothing to was Molly. He had never truly acknowledged it to himself but he wouldn't have been able to bear to see the pain on her face once she had realised he wasn't coming back and she would have realised it. She always saw the things no one else did. She saw him as he truly was, not the face he presented to the world. She knew when he was lying and when he was hurting. So he'd avoided her, he could keep up the pretence of being fine with everyone else but not with her.

He was bemused to find himself, in the late afternoon, back at the Tate again. He walked through the now familiar rooms until he reached the sculpture. This time he sat where Molly had sat, saw what she had seen; the perfect smoothness of the cold marble, the man and the woman held in each other's loving embrace, the touch of his hand on her hip, her hand wrapped around his neck. It was a timeless picture of passion, of togetherness, of comfort. Sherlock suddenly felt very alone in the world.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

By ten o'clock he was outside Molly's building checking that there was no movement in her flat. He'd been delayed in getting there and hadn't seen her actually leave so he'd waited and watched for fifteen minutes until he could be sure she wasn't there, he could only imagine her reaction if she knew what he was planning.

It was simple enough to access the main door. He simply pressed all of the doorbells until someone buzzed him in. On a Saturday night in an apartment block there was always someone expecting a friend to arrive.

Again, when he got to her door he waited leaning against it listening for sounds of her television; nothing.

It was a matter of moments to open her lock; pitifully easy in fact. He'd need to find a way to convince her to have it changed to a better one. It was so flimsy she might as well not bother using it.

Once inside he flicked on the light to the living room. He didn't think anyone would notice or be bothered about her lights being on. Toby, her cat, just lifted his head from his curled up position on the chair before going back to sleep.

Sherlock tried the obvious places first but when those yielded nothing he worked his way methodically through her flat. He was just beginning to think she might have left the pad at work or worse taken it with her when he remembered he hadn't checked the drawers underneath her bed.

He made his way through to the bedroom turning off the lights as he went and switching on the small lamp on her bedside cabinet. He knelt down and pulled open the first drawer and let out a hiss of delight. They were both there; two books. The first he'd already seen, the second he recognised now as being the one she'd been working on both when he'd arrived in the flat with the chips and the one she'd used in the gallery.

He pulled it out and laid it on the bed. He opened the front and ...

 **Sorry, I couldn't resist. Not much of a cliff hanger but hey I'll take it. Next chapter will be posted on Sunday have a good weekend.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Been busy, busy this weekend and going into a busy week (though I'm looking forward to seeing Hamlet at the cinema soon). I ended up rushing the editing if this chapter in order to get it to you today so apologies if there are any errors. Feel free to point them out and I'll back-track and alter when I have more time.**

 **Chapter 4**

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he viewed the first picture. On seeing it he recognised it as the one he had seen on her kitchen table so why was she so concerned about him seeing it. It was a drawing of a hand, a male hand and on closer inspection it looked to be covering a breast. Maybe that was why she was so embarrassed. He sat on the edge of the bed and moved the picture round. It was only when he placed his own hand on the bed next to the picture that he was hit by a realisation.

It was his hand! His mouth fell open in shock as his eyes flitted back and forth between the sketch and his hand. She really had captured it very well, it was most definitely his, the slim fingers, the shape of the fingernails; everything drawn to perfection.

He then looked closer at the body the hand was covering but he couldn't get much from it other than it was female and the hand, his hand, was covering her breast. Most of the body hadn't been drawn it was just the hand and one side of the unknown female's chest in isolation.

He found his fingers curling almost wanting to feel that warm, malleable flesh underneath them. In his minds eye it was Molly's breast, he knew it without having any evidence to back it up and he felt a sudden surge of want and need. He wanted to touch her, to know what that felt like. It stunned him.

He was almost afraid to turn the page not sure he should see what was there but he couldn't not. He had to know.

The second picture was The Kiss, the statue he'd been viewing only a few hours before and yet it wasn't. This time it was less of a shock but still felt just as visceral. Instead of a nameless couple it was them; himself and Molly, naked and entwined around each other kissing. He couldn't look away. Images tumbled over and over in his mind of Molly, her face, her smile, the curve of her neck, the delicate structure of her collarbones.

It was at that moment that he was thrust from his thoughts by the knowledge that he was no longer alone in the flat. Before he could even move the bedroom door opened and Molly burst in laughing and talking to someone behind her.

He saw her turn her head at the realisation that the light was already on, the shock on her face. It was as though he were seeing her in slow motion. Her eyes widened and he saw her look between him and the art book a blush of both anger and embarrassment spreading across her cheeks.

'Oh my God, Sherlock. What the hell...'

A male voice could be heard in the front room, 'Hey, is everything alright?' A guy came up behind her and frowned as he saw Sherlock.

'Who the hell is this, you said you were single? Is this some kind of weird crap because I'm really not into threesomes, well not with another guy anyway.'

Molly seemed to be reeling with confusion between them. 'What, no! I can't believe you broke in here Sherlock! This is my home, my personal space... I should call the police and have you arrested. You've been through my stuff, this...this is private.'

At that statement the other guys hands fisted, he started to muscle his way past Molly and Sherlock stood in readiness although he already knew he had nothing to fear from an untrained, unfit office worker. 'You've broken in...who the fuck are you?'

Sherlock couldn't help but feel insulted that he was being interrogated by some one night stand that Molly had clearly picked up from her night out, he said as much and then ducked as the guy took a swing at him.

He glanced at his watch, 'hmm, past midnight. I suggest you hurry home to your wife. She'll be wondering where you are, business meetings don't tend to last this long and the last tube leaves in fifteen minutes to Dulwich or should that be Dullsville.'

At the same time as the guy said, 'how the hell did you know that?' Molly turned in horror, 'you're married! God you creep, get out. Get out of my flat.' She pushed on the man's chest and he turned as though surprised to see her there, 'me, get out. What about him? He fucking broke in.'

'Yes, well he can get out too.' She grabbed at Sherlock's sleeve and pulled him out of the bedroom as the other man was being pushed along in front of her. Both men protesting for different reasons.

As she slammed the door behind them both Sherlock drew himself up to his full height trying to look more dignified than he actually felt at being slung out of Molly's apartment like that. The other guy just took off down the stairs with a 'fuck that' leaving Sherlock to leave at a more leisurely pace though his mind felt less than calm.

He soon managed to raise a cab and get back to Baker St and when he did he changed out of his suit, wrapped his dressing gown around him and threw himself down onto the settee, finally free to let his mind whirl.

He went back to that moment in her bedroom when he'd realised it was his hand. Why had he been so surprised that she should draw him...after all he'd always known about Molly's crush. But that was it wasn't it, he'd always belittled and dismissed her feelings for him, pushing them away and not acknowledging them. Why?

The answer? It was easier for him if he didn't think about Molly too much, if he compartmentalised her as a friend and a work colleague it was safer. Safer for both of them. But he felt as though that had all been blown wide open now. The lid that he'd kept on his feelings and on his sexuality had been torn off when he'd viewed those images. Now all he could think about was himself and Molly naked, kissing, touching each other. They'd always been in him, these feelings, tucked away at the back of his mind, ignored but now they were front and central and he didn't think he had it in him to push them back down.

He groaned and fisted his hands rubbing at his eyes acutely aware that his traitorous body was reacting to all the thoughts and images running through his head.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly was in shock. Her night had turned out very different from the one she'd expected. After she'd thrown out Sherlock and Michael _God was that even his name, the two-timing creep_ she'd changed into her comfiest most unsexy pyjamas and made herself a cup of cocoa and now she sat in her bed wondering if she would ever be able to face Sherlock ever again.

She was still angry with him for breaking in but that initial burst of adrenaline and rage had dissipated and she had been left feeling confused, hurt and more than anything embarrassed. Not only had Sherlock found her sketches, the private ones that she'd drawn of her innermost fantasies but he'd caught her bringing home a one night stand for sex.

Molly wasn't particularly proud of the fact that she picked men up for sex, and she didn't do it often. But after the whole episode with Tom she knew she shouldn't hurt anyone else by trying to embark on a relationship when her heart belonged to someone else. And did it have to be that someone else who had discovered her secrets. He must be disgusted with her on both counts.

She determined there and then to give herself a break from Sherlock until her humiliation and anger had subsided a little.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock ended up spending all night in his mind palace. He felt as if his whole world was being tilted on its axis. In one fell swoop everything he thought he understood about himself was being called into question by the simple realisation that he had feelings for Molly Hooper.

It wasn't as straight forward as acknowledging them and deciding to act on them. Sherlock had spent the last decade and more devoting himself one hundred percent to his work. In his world there was no place for love, for emotions or for relationships.

But that was before. It was an easy concept to live by when there was nothing or no one to challenge it.

The question was now that he knew how he felt was he prepared to do anything about it. He spent all night with this conundrum rolling around and around in his mind. His first thought had been that he would just continue his life as it was. Why should he change for sentiment mixed with physical wants and desires? These things were beneath him. It was intolerable that he should be driven by anything so base as sexual attraction. It was all just chemicals and hormones.

The problem was that that decision just left him dissatisfied and empty. He found himself not wanting to let her go, at least not so easily. Surely he owed it to himself and her to at least consider the possibility of them being together. And so he did. He imagined being with Molly. Not in a sexual way, at least he didn't think of that straight away. No, he imagined just spending time with her. The two of them simply enjoying each other's company; sharing a conversation, enjoying a meal, just being there for each other.

It was almost too easy. It was an extension of the friendship they already shared. He thought back to that night recently when they'd shared chips together and how effortless the whole evening had been. It had been one of the most enjoyable evenings he'd had in a long while.

But that was a long way away from a romantic relationship. Sherlock felt his face twist in disgust even as the words passed through his thoughts.

The physical side worried him. He was no virgin, whatever Moriarty had thought. In that he had been very wrong, but it had been years and it had never been an emotional act, always just a physical release. One that he had learned to live without, at least with other people. It was so tied up in his mind with his drug use that he wasn't even sure what drug or alcohol free sex was like.

He tried to picture being with Molly in that way. He conjured her up in his mind; her fresh, make-up free face in front of him; those warm, trusting brown eyes looking into his, a small and oh so familiar smile playing on her lips.

He imagined himself bending his head to hers; his lips meeting hers and in that moment he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before. It was too much for him to suppress and too attractive for him to walk away from. He had no choice; he had to have her if he could and Sherlock was nothing if not decisive. Once his mind was made up he moved forward on that basis, there was no going back.

He opened his eyes in the early morning light of his flat and he watched the dust motes floating in the rays of golden light starting to peek through the gaps in the curtains. The question now was whether, after last night, Molly would still want him.

 **What do you think guys...will she still want him? How hard a time should she give him? I'll try and update on Wednesday. Til then...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Countdown to Hamlet...unfortunately I'm not seeing the live cinema on the 15th but a replay on the 18th but even so I can't wait.**

 **As for Sherlock's fate: general consensus seems to be he needs to do something special to make it up to her. Hope what I've come up with fits the bill.**

 **Chapter 5**

In the end he decided to give Molly a bit of time to calm down. He knew first-hand how volatile her temper could be and he deduced that showing up at her flat would not be conducive to his case.

Sunday passed reasonably well. Once he'd decided this was something he wanted to pursue his mind had calmed and he felt at peace with himself which had led to him sleeping for most of the day. By the time he awoke it was well after lunch, although Mrs Hudson had left him a tea towel covered tray of sandwiches along with a pot of tea which was fortunately still warm and not too stewed. He devoted the rest of his day to his much neglected study of tobacco ash.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The following day just as he was preparing to leave for Barts he had an undesirable visitor in the form of his brother.

'Dammit Mycroft, what is it now? I have plans and no time to indulge you and your suffocating concerns.'

Mycroft ignored this outburst from his younger brother and, after hanging up his umbrella on the coat hooks, he proceeded to sit himself down in John's chair and inspect his manicured fingernails. 'I do hope your plans have nothing to do with Barts brother dear.'

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks and he swivelled on his heel to face Mycroft. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything Mycroft continued.

'So tell me, what DID you do to Doctor Hooper this time?'

'Nothing.' Sherlock had spoken too fast and he knew it; knew absolutely that it would come across defensively. He gritted his teeth and went on, 'that is to say, I may have overstepped my boundaries a little where she is concerned but nothing she won't forgive once I apologise.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, 'yes, well that forgiveness may have to wait a little.'

'For God's sake Mycroft just tell me what you came here to say and stop all this cryptic nonsense.'

'Fine, I had a call this morning from Doctor Stamford, very apologetic he was but asking me if he could withdraw your privileges at Barts...'

Sherlock raised his hands and his voice in horror, 'what! No, I need access there. I can't do my job if I can't use their equipment.'

Mycroft held up his own hand to stem the flow of words from Sherlock who had suddenly sat down in the chair opposite him and was gesticulating imploringly.

'It's not forever Sherlock. Just a couple of weeks. You'll live.'

Sherlock sat back with a huff looking all of a sudden like the sulky little brother that Mycroft had found irritating in his youth but now looked back on with fond memories. His lips were set in a pout his forehead creased in frustration.

Mycroft, as he always had, found himself softening a little. He had never been able to be truly harsh with his sibling. He had even had to mock up a fresh threat from a long-dead Moriarty to save Sherlock from exile and certain death and if anyone ever found that out it would be Mycroft being exiled.

He sighed, 'maybe you can find a way to make it up to her. What did you do by the way?'

Sherlock felt too depressed to dissemble, 'I broke into her flat, saw some...err...things she was embarrassed about.'

Mycroft shook his head in despair, 'well then I suggest you think of something suitably abasing to reciprocate.'

Sherlock stayed quiet, lost in his thoughts and Mycroft tilted his head as he looked at him sensing a change in his brother. He frowned a little in initial confusion, 'you like her!'

Sherlock looked up equally confused, 'well of course I do. She's my friend, she saved my life as you well know.'

Mycroft took in all the signs, the light blush that appeared on Sherlock's cheeks, the almost imperceptible dilation of his pupils as his mind dwelt on his pathologist. 'No Sherlock, you misunderstand me. You always were purposefully obtuse and age has done little to change that. I mean you have romantic feelings towards her.'

Sherlock sighed and pursed his lips looking anywhere but at his brother, 'so what if I do? Is that a problem?' Again he knew he was being too defensive but he just couldn't help it. It was a trait his older brother always seemed to bring out in him.

Mycroft was silent for a moment before he responded, 'I have always told you that caring is not an advantage and I still hold to that adage...it isn't. However, much though we like to think we are above all these human emotions and interactions we are, ourselves, still merely just men and it appears we need to receive love and to give love as much as the next person. If you have to pick anyone then Doctor Hooper is at least better than most and given her choice of career is probably the most able to put up with your interests and foibles.'

Sherlock looked at him shocked. He had never expected Mycroft of all people to endorse his decision.

Mycroft stood himself up and went over to retrieve his umbrella. 'I think all that is left for me to say is good hunting brother!'

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

After Mycroft had left Sherlock contemplated going to Barts anyway so he could speak to Molly. He'd already known he would have to apologise for Saturday night but now it looked like he might have to go even further.

He eventually decided against trying to see her at work. For one thing it wasn't conducive to what he wanted to say and he certainly didn't want an audience. Secondly, he had a sneaking concern that Mike Stamford might have spoken to security and he did not want to be publicly thrown out before he even got through the front doors.

So instead that evening saw him round at Molly's flat once more; this time 'sans' his lock-picking kit.

He'd waited until an hour after her shift had finished knowing she would be back home but instead he was disappointed. Rather than finding Molly he found a note blue tacked on the door with his name written on it in Molly's handwriting.

 _Sherlock,_

 _I think I know you well enough to know that you will try to come over with some sort of half-hearted apology in order to try to get your access rights reinstated at work. To that end I'm staying with a friend at the moment._

 _I need you to know how much your invasion of my privacy hurt me and I hope you will prove your friendship by giving me some space for a couple of weeks._

 _Yours,_

 _Molly_

Tuesday found Sherlock desperate enough to ring his mother to find out whether he had already had chickenpox so he could go and visit John. It turned out he had when he was three and he'd been a nightmare when the spots had started to itch.

It had taken him forty five minutes before he could extricate himself from the conversation politely. He didn't dare insult his mother or God forbid hang up on her; that would be tantamount to starting World War III and he didn't need another visit from Mycroft!

By eleven o'clock he was round at the Watsons being let in by a surprised and tired looking John. 'Hey, what brings you here Sherlock? Is there a case? Lizzie's much better so I could probably help out.'

'No, no case. No nothing John. I have nothing to do and now I can't even go to Barts it's insufferable.'

John smiled and rolled his eyes, 'what have you done now?' He gestured for Sherlock to come in and together they made their way down the narrow hallway and through to the kitchen.

Sherlock pouted, 'why does everyone assume I've done something?'

'Well...have you?' John glanced at him appraisingly as he filled up the kettle.

Sherlock's nostrils flared and John knew he was right.

'So who else assumed it?' John asked, letting his friend off the hook momentarily. He figured he would tell him what had happened soon enough.

'Mycroft, he came round yesterday to tell me that my privileges at Barts have been temporarily revoked. I have experiments there John, things I need to do...' He trailed off lamely.

John poured them both out a cuppa and the two of them sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table, Sherlock's coat and scarf now hung up.

Sherlock looked around briefly, 'where are Mary and Elizabeth?'

'As it's such a mild day Mary's took her out for some fresh air, I think they both needed it. They'll be back in about half an hour or so. I was just going to catch up on some paperwork for work. I'm back in tomorrow; morning surgery. But enough of your diversionary tactics; what did you do to upset Molly?'

Sherlock explained everything that had happened, leaving out the description of the erotic drawings and his internal decisions about his own feelings. It was one thing Mycroft deducing it, it was quite another actually coming out and telling his best friend. That would make it seem real somehow and plus he could only imagine the idiotic ribbing and ribaldry that John would come out with should he hear about Sherlock's feelings before he had secured his relationship with Molly.

'Bloody Hell Sherlock. It sounds like you've excelled yourself this time. So?'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, frowning, 'so what?'

'So, what are you going to do to show her how sorry you are?' John spoke slowly as though he were speaking to a toddler. He sometimes thought that for all his friend's genius he was a child when it came to emotions and people's feelings.

There was silence for a minute until Sherlock finally relented, his shoulders sagging in defeat, 'I don't know,' he whispered.

John couldn't resist. He put his hand behind his ear, 'I'm sorry what? I didn't quite catch that.'

Sherlock scowled, 'I don't know John. I don't know.' He shouted before his voice softened, ' I was hoping you could recommend something.'

John sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised. He had to admit he was enjoying himself a little, 'wow! The great Sherlock Holmes needs MY help. Wonders will never cease!'

'Yes, yes, yes, very funny. Now what should I do?'

'Well, it sounds as though you need to find a way to make her feel better. Too feel less...I don't know humiliated, violated. It was her private space Sherlock!'

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock still didn't have a plan later on that day, but he did know where Molly would be and so that was where he was heading; North London Further Education College.

He had been online and knew that the class was due to start in ten minutes so he was loitering around outside the classroom hoping to be able to intercept her. He had no idea what he would say but seeing her would be a start and it was also something he had found himself longing for ever since he had decided he wanted to be with her.

He had dressed casually again, jeans, t-shirt and baseball cap, in the hopes that she wouldn't recognise him and leave before he could even say anything. He was distracting himself by reading the posters on the notice board situated just outside whilst he killed time waiting. He was just checking his watch when he was interrupted by a blond guy about five years older than himself and half a foot shorter. He was slim, single and obviously the art tutor.

'Hello, are you the model from the agency?'

'Sorry?' Sherlock had understood what he meant the first time but he wanted to stall for time so he could think.

'The life model for our class, I did ask for a guy but they weren't sure whether they had anyone available.'

Sherlock suddenly realised this was his opportunity. His chance to do something for Molly that would make up for the embarrassment she had suffered at his hands. He had never been shy of his body, after all he'd visited Buckingham Palace wearing nothing more than a sheet. How bad could it be?

'Err, yes, yes I am. What do you need me to do?'

 **Well, do you like this idea? Will it be enough or will the sight of a naked Sherlock be too much for poor Molly? Let me know.**

 **Next update will be Friday.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So that last chapter certainly got a reaction from you all. Seems like most of you are quite happy to see Sherlock stripping off in penance for his crimes against Molly. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.**

 **Chapter 6**

The chap visibly relaxed, 'oh thank goodness. Come on through.' He opened the door to the classroom chatting as they went, 'the students were promised live models and we only had a bowl of fruit last week. I was thinking that we could start the class with your back to the group, it would help if they started with the structure of the spine, the shoulders and the hips.'

He ushered Sherlock through the class, where a couple of the students were setting up, and through an old set of curtains where there was a chaise longue with a small changing room tucked behind it.

'You can leave your clothes in there and arrange yourself on the chaise. Make sure to pick a pose you can maintain for at least an hour, then we'll take a break and maybe have you pose slightly differently. I'll check on you in a couple of minutes to make sure you're ready before I pull back the curtain. OK?'

'Yes, fine.' Sherlock was already bored of this man's prattling. He was glancing around the small room as he quickly undressed looking for something...ah yes, just what he needed.

He went through and sat on the chaise with one leg outstretched but bent at the knee and the other tucked under him. He then leant his elbow on the edge of the chaise and rested his body against the curve.

He placed the small compact mirror he'd found discreetly on the narrow shelf in front of him that housed the wiring for the room. He hoped he could use it to be able to see Molly as she was drawing him.

The tutor, who had been greeting the class and talking through the lesson plan for the evening, popped his head back round the curtain. 'Hi...Erm sorry I didn't get your name..?'

'John, John Watson.'

'OK, John are you ready?'

Sherlock nodded and took up his pose.

'Great.' With that he could hear the tutor pulling back the curtain. He quickly titled his head so he could survey the class as best he could through the small mirror but to his disappointment there was no sign of Molly. For the first time since he had been told of his exile and certain death his heart fell. How was it possible she could affect him so much already?

He was contemplating just getting up and leaving when he heard her voice.

'Hi Dave. I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up at work.'

'It's OK Molly we've only just started. We're concentrating on posture and the importance of getting the spine right today; the length of the back, the curve of the spine. Using it as your starting point and keeping the rest of the body in proportion, the shoulders and the hips. Sorry, if you could keep still please John.'

Sherlock had moved a little to give himself a better view of Molly and he saw her glance over at him and then do a bit if a double-take before frowning and shaking her head. She had obviously thought she had recognised him but then thought better of it. He didn't blame her; it was a very unlikely thing for him to do.

She settled in and Sherlock watched her as she started to draw. He saw the familiar look of concentration on her face, her eyes flicking back and forth from him, to her work and back again.

The tutor was moving around the classroom spending time with each student offering words of encouragement and advice as he went. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time with Molly; not just admiring her work but touching her arm, her back, her shoulder. Sherlock could feel his jaw tightening in jealousy and anger each time he watched a moment pass between the two of them.

True to his word after an hour the tutor came over and closed the curtains. 'Maybe you could recreate the same pose facing forwards this time, John? It will help the class to compare the front and back.'

'No problem,' growled Sherlock trying not to spit out any of the deductions he'd made about the guy, at least not in front of Molly and the rest of the class. That would not help promote his case with his pathologist. Instead he took a swig of water and then swivelled himself around to face the curtain, mirroring the same pose as before. He had no real idea as to what Molly's reaction would be when she saw him, especially given his nudity, but he suspected it would be a shocked one.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Shocked was an understatement for how Molly Hooper felt as her tutor pulled back the curtain to reveal a naked Sherlock Holmes in all his glory!

She had been preparing her pencils and had glanced up briefly to take a look, already a little embarrassed about the fact that the model was nude. When her eyes locked onto Sherlock, who was looking right at her wearing a smirk and nothing else, she wondered for a moment if she might pass out.

When she had first seen his back and those curls she'd had a moment of madness where she had thought it was him but it had seemed such a ridiculous notion that she'd quickly dismissed it. She had to be honest though and admit she'd secretly imagined it might be him as she had sketched out that muscled back and long limbs.

She knew she was gawping at him like a fish; she could feel a deep blush spreading over her cheeks and could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

She glanced round at the rest of the class to see their reaction but there was none. They were all just starting to draw; fixing their paper or holding up a pencil to gauge perspective. She looked back at Sherlock who was still staring back at her seemingly completely unfazed by being naked in front of her. And it was that single thought that had her eyes traveling covetously and traitorously down his body.

For the first time since she had visited him in the hospital she could see the small scar denoting the place that Mary Watson's bullet had torn through his skin and nearly killed him. Even thinking about it set her teeth on edge, she had in no way forgiven Mary for that or believed Sherlock's story that she had not meant him to die. She knew from seeing his records how close to death he had come. Mary was her friend's wife and the mother of his child and on the surface she got on well with her but, and it was a big but, she didn't trust her.

Her eyes continued their travels even as her mind started to say she shouldn't be looking. They moved over his taut, pale-skinned stomach following a black haired treasure trail to his...

She closed her eyes and concentrated on just controlling her breathing. She knew the image of him naked would be imprinted on her brain for as long as she lived. What the hell was he doing?

'Molly, is everything alright?'

She was brought out of her brief reverie by her art teacher. She found her mouth was dry and she had to try to swallow before she could talk, 'I..err..yes, yes, I just have a headache. That's all.'

'Do you need to go home?'

She saw Sherlock raise an eyebrow at her lie and she felt guilty as she heard the concern in her tutor's voice. It was seeing that Sherlock knew how affected she was that decided it for her, 'no, I'm fine. Thanks anyway.'

She made a show of drinking some water before taking a deep breath, picking up her pencil and looking back at the man she had been in love with for almost as long as she could remember. Gid he infuriated her!

The next hour and a half seemed to fly by and Molly was faintly surprised when Dave called an end to the lesson. He thanked 'John' as he closed the curtains and then talked to the class about their assignment for the coming week.

Molly barely took any of it in. Her eyes were still fixed on the closed curtain. She was determined to stay on and have it out with Sherlock when he came out, hopefully dressed this time.

She took her time packing up and felt slightly irritated when her tutor came over to chat to her. He commentated about how good her style was, how she was the best in the class. He even offered to meet up with her later in the week to give her some further advice and maybe have a drink, mentioning a pub not far from the college.

Molly was too distracted to pick up on the signs that he was chatting her up and back-handedly asking her out. She was about to answer him when Sherlock came out from behind the curtain dressed in a way Molly had never seen before. She'd seen suits and a homeless look but this was just blue jeans and a white t-shirt which suited him more than she would have thought.

He came over confidently and slung an arm around Molly's shoulders possessively leaving her open mouthed once more. 'Sorry, but Molly won't be free that night or any other, we already have plans, don't we darling?'

He looked down at Molly and when she turned her head to look back at him he cut off any reply she might have made by kissing her hard on the lips.

Molly's mind was in free-fall. She felt as though she had been plunged into an alternate universe and it wasn't a good one.

'Oh, right, sorry. I didn't realise you two knew each other. Umm, anyway thanks for today John. Here's the money for your work.' He handed over twenty pounds, 'it would be great if you could come back again next week. It's really hard to get men to model for our classes.'

'Anyhow,' he seemed to rally himself, turning back to Molly, 'just keep practicing this week, remember to work on your shading and I'll see you at the next class. Good night.'

Molly said a vague good night in response and picked up her bag letting Sherlock steer them both out of the classroom. She honestly had no idea what was going on but anger was starting to kick in and she most definitely wanted to know what on earth he thought he was up to.

As soon as they had left the college she pulled away from his arm and turned to face him with a furious expression on her face, 'what the hell was that?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but now that Molly had found her voice she was not inclined to stop, 'I cannot believe you did that. Coming into my class, my personal space again..and... I have never in all my life...a model Sherlock, a nude model! And what was that with Dave, acting like some kind of caveman. You cannot just scare off every guy that comes near me just so I can be permanently at your beck and call at work.'

'I didn't...'

'I thought we were past you pretending to be interested in me in order to manipulate me Sherlock. I thought we were friends but I was obviously mistaken because friends don't treat each other with so little regard.'

'We are...'

'Don't think I've forgiven you yet for breaking into my flat because I haven't. I haven't even started, you violated my privacy, my home...'

Sherlock threw up his hands in despair and just acted instead. He took hold of Molly's face causing her to squeak in shock as for the second time that night he bent his head and kissed her.

This kiss was unlike the first which had been little more than a peck. This time he kissed her with all the passion and emotion he could muster and Molly thought, once more, that she might actually pass out. His touch was electric; she could feel her body and mind reacting to him pulling her to him like a magnet. She clung to him, her mind racing. Her lips moved automatically against his and her eyes closed and she couldn't quite take in that she was kissing Sherlock Holmes, the man she had loved from afar for so long.

She didn't ever want the kiss to end even as the voice in the back of her head told her that this wasn't real and that he was just manipulating her. Part of her just wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

When he finally pulled away from her they were both breathing heavily but Molly could already feel tears of embarrassment and humiliation pricking at her eyes. She turned away and ran, hailing a passing taxi as she went, grateful when the cabbie spotted her and indicated to show he was pulling over.

She could hear Sherlock calling her name and just as she started to climb into the cab he grabbed the top of her arm and swung her around to face him, 'Molly...please, we need to talk.'

She pulled her arm from his grasp, 'no, no we don't. Just leave me alone Sherlock!'

The taxi pulled away leaving a frustrated and confused Consulting Detective in its wake.

 **So it's still not plain sailing for poor Sherlock, he didn't quite get the outcome he had hoped for. I hoped you like the idea of him modelling though, I tried really hard to visualise it as I wrote it ;).**


	7. Chapter 7

**It's Sunday! Which means today is the day I finally, finally get to see Benedict's Hamlet. It's been a long time coming. Glad to see that the reviews are good plus I hear his biceps are a thing of beauty ;).**

 **Thank you all so much for your reviews and your comments.**

 **Chapter 7**

Sherlock was not to be thwarted, not now, and he hailed his own cab a moment or two later and directed it to Molly's flat.

He sat looking out at the city lights and thought back to that kiss. It had only cemented his desire for Molly and now he had experienced that moment he was determined not to let the night end without Molly realising he was serious about her and about them. He soon found himself snapping at the cab driver for any delays on the way.

He arrived not long after her; seeing the light flick on in her flat even as he was paying the beleaguered driver. He took the stairs up to her flat two at a time and hammered loudly on her door.

'Go away Sherlock!' She called though the door sounding distinctly upset.

'No. Molly, I'm not going anywhere so you might as well let me in. We need to talk.'

When he heard nothing after a minute he leant his forehead against the door and closed his eyes, 'Molly, please I'm sorry I know I've messed up...just let me in.'

To Molly who was standing with her back against the door he sounded so close and so sincere but she'd been fooled by him so many times before. 'I'm scared to,' she replied quietly, not sure if he would even hear her.

'I'm not here to hurt you...I promise, just please let me in.'

A moment later he pulled himself upright as he heard the lock snap and then there she stood in front of him; her red-rimmed eyes tugging at the heart he hadn't realised until recently that he had. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from any further hurt but he knew that right now she would just pull away from him. He had to make her realise how he felt.

She left the door open and silently walked back down the short corridor and into her front room. He closed the door behind him and followed her through where he found her sat on the edge of her settee with her head in her hands.

He bit his lip as he considered how he should approach this. He was acutely aware that this situation was not his forte and he could so very easily make things worse.

In the end he knelt down in front of her and used his finger to lift her chin until she was facing him; then he used his thumbs to gently wipe her tears away.

'Molly, please believe me when I say that I am sorry for hurting you. I can be crass, unfeeling and selfish. I don't always understand boundaries or appropriateness...but then you know that more than most.'

He looked down at the ground for a couple of seconds, finding the hurt and the pain in her eyes almost too much to bear. 'I need you to know that I have been thinking about you...about us.'

He looked back up and saw a frown forming on her forehead as she looked at him in confusion.

'I need to be honest with you I find myself in the strangely unsettling position of having feelings; romantic, sexual feelings...for you,' he added quickly in case there was any doubt, 'and I don't know how to proceed for the best.'

He looked her in the eye hoping he could convey his sincerity to her, wondering, hoping that she would believe him.

Tentatively she asked, 'these feelings. Are they something you want to act on?'

He nodded and smiled almost shyly, 'yes, very much.'

The frown came back, 'but you've never had these feelings for me before, why now?'

Sherlock had had plenty of time to think about this very question and he knew how valid it was for Molly to ask it. 'I never let myself see you as a woman before; a person with needs and desires. I think, deep down, I always knew that you would or could be the one to ignite passion within me and so I kept you at a certain arm's length. You were only ever my friend or my pathologist. But when I saw your sketches...it forced me to see you...to see us, as we could be...and I want it...I want you, us and everything we could be.'

He unconsciously held his breath as he finished, seeing the hope mingled with fear in her expression, not knowing what she would say.

'I'll be honest Sherlock. What you've just said frightens me. You have the capacity to hurt me far more than anyone else ever could.'

He was silent as he considered and acknowledged what she had said, he felt her gaze burning into him. 'I know that and if I'm honest I probably will hurt you again. I will say or do the wrong thing. I'll make plans and forget about them as soon as a case crops up. I'll lash out at you when I'm bored or frustrated. I will try not to but we both know I will. But...isn't it worth us trying...seeing what we could be...together?'

He took her clasped hands in one of his and brought his other up to cradle her face, watching her reactions as he slowly moved towards her; her pupils dilating, a blush appearing on her cheeks and her breath hitching even as her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss.

He was aware of similar physical reactions taking place in his own body. He looked forward to reliving and cataloguing this moment later but for now he just wanted to experience it.

Their lips met and Sherlock felt a rush of endorphins and hormones. It may have been the third time today that he had kissed her but it felt like the first. He felt her hands come up and hold his face and felt a rush of joy that she was giving him a chance; that they were finally together. He so rarely gave into his feelings, to the physical demands of his body that it felt like such a high to just let go.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly felt as though she were in a dream. She kept waiting to wake up and find herself bereft and alone. Instead Sherlock's arms were wrapped around her pulling her off the settee and against him. Her own hands had ventured to his face and she was relishing feeling his skin; her fingers sliding over those cheekbones. She was losing herself in the kiss; in him.

It seemed to last forever before they broke apart breathing heavily but resting their foreheads against each other. She moved her hands into his hair loving how soft his curls felt; her lips moving down to his neck hearing him groan deeply as his fingers dug into her back.

Molly knew she was rushing into this, that she hadn't given it much thought but she couldn't stop herself from sliding her hands down his back before gripping the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it off over his head, breaking off from kissing his neck and throat as she did.

They looked at each other for a moment, almost shyly; before she let her eyes drift down over his torso. This time she allowed herself to really see him, more than she had in the classroom. Slowly she brought her hand up and let her index finger slide over the small scar on his chest. How could something so small do so much damage? She slid down onto her knees on the floor before leaning forward and kissing it, willing herself not to think about how close to death he had once come.

As she pulled away he stood up swiftly and held his hand out to her. This time when she looked at him there was no shyness in his face just lust and desire. She felt herself shudder as she put her hand into his and he drew her to her feet before leading her through to her bedroom.

Once inside he turned on the small bedside lamp and then faced her once more as he moved to unbutton her shirt.

Her mouth felt dry and her heart was beating so hard she wondered whether he could hear it. Almost in answer as he pushed the shirt off her shoulders and unclipped her bra also removing it; then he slowly placed his hand over her right breast.

It was only as he looked from his hand to her face that she realised he was copying her drawing, the one he'd seen the other evening. The reality of it made her breath catch in her throat.

Without removing his hand he gently pushed her down onto the bed before moving above her. It was only when his mouth replaced his hand and he bit down on her hardened nipple that she accepted that they were really doing this, they were going to have sex.

Her hands moved across his back pulling him closer to her, feeling the weight of him on her body. She knew she was arching herself into his mouth, needing to feel him more. His tongue was making lazy circles around her nipple as he drew her further into his mouth.

It wasn't enough though and Molly impatiently began to tug at the button of his jeans trying to undo them, wanting to see him, touch him, taste him. He pulled back a little and helped her to undo them before kicking off his shoes and socks so he could remove them completely. Molly leant up on her elbows looking down her own half naked body to his fully nude one. This time there was no avoiding his penis, it was fully hard and jutting out at a right angle to his body.

Molly couldn't resist sitting up in front of him so his erection was right in front of her. As she gripped it she kissed the tip before looking up at him. He was looking down at her with wide, dark, lust filled eyes and it gave her the green light to take him into her mouth, letting her tongue swirl around him just as he had done with her breast. She could feel her own arousal growing and moaned as she took him deeper, one hand moving to his backside to pull him further into her.

Sherlock looked down at the sight of Molly Hooper giving him a perfect blow job and let out a strangled 'oh God' as he anchored his hands in her hair wondering if he was going to be able to stay standing as she took him deeper into her warm, wet mouth. He could feel his hips starting to rock in time with her ministrations and worried he wouldn't be able to last. After all this was his first sexual encounter in over a decade, he was miserably out of practice.

He could feel himself getting closer to the point of no return and pulled lightly on her hair to warn her, 'God, Molly no more I'm going to ahhhh'.

In response, rather than release him Molly had reached between his legs and gripped his balls, rolling them in the palm of her small hand pulling his orgasm from him. He pumped himself into her mouth, his come streaming from him. He felt his legs start to tremble and had to hold onto Molly to stay upright.

She released him with a hum of delight and lay back on the bed looking up at him as she licked her lips. The sight of her so wantonly displayed before him had Sherlock desperate to satisfy her as much as she had just satisfied him.

He narrowed his eyes and she smiled even as she pulled herself further up onto the bed, watching as he crawled towards her. 'You, Molly Hooper are a wicked woman. How did I never see this before? I always miss something...but two can play that game.' She bit her lip as he undid her trousers and tugged them, along with her knickers, down her legs until she was as naked as he was.

He slid his hands slowly up her legs from the ankles, up her calves, over her knees until he reached her thighs. Still moving slowly, watching her reactions as he moved her legs apart so that she was revealed to him. He could see how wet and moist she was and the sight of him looking at her like this had Molly squirming with desire, desperate for some release. A release he was more than happy to give her, eventually!

He leant over her until his face was level with her centre and he looked up her body seeing her face looking back at him almost nervously.

Slowly he blew air over her, holding her steady as she bucked towards him. He heard her hands clutching frantically at the bed sheets, heard her saying his name almost beseechingly. He used the tip of his tongue to gradually track from her slick, wet entrance to her clit and once again her body bucked up. She moaned deeply and it reverberated through Sherlock's whole body causing his cock to pulse and start to harden once more.

He repeated the same move two, then three times loving how she reacted to each move he made. He alternated between using the flat of his tongue and the tip calculating each response, honing his skills to match her needs. Within five minutes she was climaxing, pushing herself against his mouth her hands pulling on his hair, calling his name, all of which meant that as she came down from her high he was hard once more and more than ready to fuck her.

 **I'm always a bit nervous when I finally get them together. I hope it's not too soon for you guys but this was never going to be very slow burn just smutty fluff. And there's a lot of smut still to come. You can blame lilsherlockian1975 for that. In her words 'you can never have too much sex'. I think she was talking about Sherlolly...**


	8. Chapter 8

**So I finally got to see Ben in Hamlet and have to say he was brilliant. I'm amazed that he can do that performance night after night with that level of energy and emotion. He went through the full rage from tears to rage, running and jumping on and off tables. Some of the rest was questionable. I didn't like Ophelia, Claudius or the ghost but loved Laertes and Polonius, so a bit of a mixed bag but Benedict's was a stand-out performance and I would definitely recommend seeing it if you can.**

 **Meanwhile back to my story and the smut continues :).**

 **Chapter 8**

Sherlock moved above Molly until he was level with her face once more, bending his head to kiss her. He could taste himself as he did and knew she could taste herself on him. If anything this erotic combination just seemed to heighten their desire for each other and they tangled and rolled on the bed as they almost fought to dominate the kiss.

Molly couldn't remember ever feeling more turned on. She may have just climaxed beautifully when Sherlock had so skilfully gone down on her but if anything it had just left her desperately wanting more. It was as though she'd given herself over to a much more base, animalistic part of herself as she touched and kissed and moved against Sherlock wanting to feel every part of him, wanting to devour him body and soul. She had never felt so consumed by sex before, it was intoxicating and she felt as though she could do this all night and never tire.

She ended up sitting astride Sherlock leaning over him, her hands splayed on his chest feeling his heart drumming under her palm as their tongues explored each other's mouth. She could feel him hard beneath her and found herself rubbing herself against him, searching for a release, anything to take this maddening, desperate arousal away.

When he didn't act she reached down between them and lifting herself into her knees she quickly positioned him before sliding down to impale herself upon him. She felt his hands move from her breasts to her hips as he groaned into her mouth. His grip was almost painful but it just made her want more. He held her still even as she struggled to move.

'Please...Molly...give me a moment...God you feel so good.'

She kissed his neck sucking in the skin at the base, feeling her next orgasm starting to build, almost intensified due to her trying to keep still. Gradually Sherlock started to move with her, one hand moving back to her breast and holding it in place for his mouth. The feeling of his cock buried deep inside her and him biting and nipping on her breast had Molly openly moaning and begging him for more.

It wasn't long before the feel of him starting to pulse; combined with her clit rubbing against him had her crying out his name. She knew he was close, heard him begging her to keep going as he told her how wet she was, how much he was enjoying fucking her. Hearing this man saying such dirty things and calling her name had Molly tipping from one orgasm straight into another and this time Sherlock came with her, thrusting himself up into her as he held her to him.

By the time Molly had finished she felt completely worn out. She had never had sex that good...ever! They were both covered in a sheen of sweat but neither of them cared as they continued to kiss and touch and move against each other.

Finally Molly excused herself, making her way to the bathroom to clean up. As she did she started to realise what had happened and she had to bite the back of her hand to stop herself squealing with joy.

By the time she got back to the bedroom Sherlock was sat up waiting for her. He took her breath away. He looked go gorgeously dishevelled, his curls sticking up, his lips reddened from their kisses and a love bite standing out in sharp relief on his white neck. He smiled as she came back in already holding his arms out to receive her.

She happily crawled over to meet him unable to resist yet another kiss. 'Mmmm I could do this all night.' She whispered happily.

'Well, I have no other plans for the evening, so I'm all yours to do with as you will.'

She looked at him gleefully, 'you might regret that offer Mister Holmes, I might wear you out.'

He raised an eyebrow smirking, 'you...wear me out; I think it might be the other way around.'

She bit her lip, 'oh are you ready to go again then?'

He huffed at her outwitting him knowing he at least needed a little recovery time before he'd be ready once more. Instead he spun her over so he was lying on top of her again, though he kept his weight off her a little.

He used one hand to move the hair from her face as he looked down at her, almost wondering at how he had managed to be so fortunate as to secure her affections. He was an arse and he knew it; he also knew he'd been horrible to her in the past and he vowed to himself never to be so stupid and blind in the future.

To Molly it was a shock to see such a tender expression on Sherlock's face as he looked down at her, his hand brushing stray hairs from her face. She knew that even if she were to spend the rest of her life perfecting her skills as an artist she would never manage to capture that look. It brought a lump to her throat and she worried she might actually start crying.

She saw the quizzical expression flit across his face, 'what's wrong Molly? Are you not happy with the change in our relationship?'

She smiled and traced his lips with the tip of her finger loving being able to touch him in this intimate way; something that had been denied to her for so long. 'No, the opposite. I can hardly believe that it's real. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and it will all have been a dream.'

He leant down lower and kissed her, a slow, passionate kiss that seemed to reach into her very soul and twine it with his. It was a leisurely, exploratory kiss and they just enjoyed the simplicity of just being together.

Molly could feel Sherlock's hand slide down her body from her shoulder to her hip. His hand so large against her delicate frame. She shivered as her desire for him started to ignite once more. Her feelings of being sated already starting to disappear. She moaned into his mouth her own hands reaching for him, pulling him down onto her fully. She wanted to feel his weight pressing her into the mattress.

'God, Molly, what have you done to me? I need you again...already.' He rocked his hips against her thigh and she could feel he was already hardening.

She shifted and lifted her legs so he was resting at her entrance and slowly he slid back into her. Just like the kiss the pace they set was a slow one, all the angry passion of earlier burnt away just leaving embers of desire and need.

Slowly, oh so slowly her arousal grew with each rock of his hips. His body sliding deliciously over hers; stimulating her both inside and out. As their moans and kisses grew more desperate Sherlock linked his fingers with hers holding her hands up above her head. The position was so erotic that Molly felt her climax starting to overwhelm her. She felt Sherlock's movements starting to become more erratic and knew he too was close, so close.

They came together both calling the others name before Sherlock collapsed onto her body, releasing her hands so she could hold him to her feeling his heart beat against her own chest as they both came down from their high.

As he rolled to one side still holding her close he groaned at the aches in his body from all their activity, 'I give up, I'm officially empty Molly Hooper, you've worn me out.'

She smirked lazily, 'slacker, we're going to have to work on your stamina,' but even as she said it she felt her eyes closing in weariness.

Sherlock reached over her and pulled at one of the covers that had ended up being pushed to one side; he tugged it over their exhausted bodies. Molly barely had the energy to help him and before she knew it she was fast asleep.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

When she awoke in the morning all the memories of the night before came rushing back to her in a flood. She stretched out in her bed enjoying the way her muscles ached and her joints popped, before she rolled over to find the bed empty, no sign of Sherlock.

She couldn't help but feel a gnawing sense of worry hit her, had he changed his mind. It was then than she spotted a handwritten note propped up against her alarm clock.

She quickly sat up and reached for it, nervously anticipating what might be inside.

 _Molly,_

 _A case has come up, I'll no doubt need your assistance so I'll see you later at Barts (it would be good if you could ask Security to let me in now. I hope I've more than made up for my previous misdemeanour but if not, you can exact any further payment necessary later)._

 _Before you worry, because I know you will, I thoroughly enjoyed last night and intend to repeat it as soon as this case is wrapped up...and to that end I intend to solve it within 24 hours._

 _Until later,_

 _Sherlock_

Molly sent off a quick text to Mike then she smiled happily to herself as she hopped out of bed and padded to the bathroom for a much needed shower; rolling her eyes as she entered it when she saw the mess Sherlock had left behind, wet towels strewn over the floor and her shampoo and conditioner left open to solidify. She was going to have to teach him, and quickly, that she was no Mrs Hudson and did not intend to be his housekeeper.

She couldn't help but keep reliving all the moments from the night before as she showered, ate her breakfast and dressed for work. She knew she had a huge grin on her face each time she remembered something but she didn't care. She was finally, after all these years in a relationship with Sherlock and she intended to enjoy it.

It was midday when she got to Barts, thankful that she was on a late shift. As she made her way to the labs she bumped into John.

'Oh hey Molly. I don't know what's wrong with Sherlock today. I think he must have been more desperate for a case that I'd realised.'

Molly bit her lip to try to stop the smile that she knew was trying to spread across her face. She had a sudden realisation that she wasn't sure whether Sherlock wanted them to go public or not.

'Why, what's up?'

John frowned, 'well...he's happy. I've never seen him this happy so early into a case.' They walked towards the labs together as they chatted. 'By the way, I hope Sherlock really did make up for breaking into your flat the other day. He did seem very repentant when he mentioned it to me. Good for you though for making him pay, he bloody well gets away with murder most of the time. So go on then what did he do by way of repentance?' He asked as they pushed through the doors to the lab.

Sherlock answered the question without even looking up from his microscope, 'I modelled nude in her art class before telling her I loved her and spending the night with her repeatedly having sex. Now could you pass me my phone John, left hand pocket, and be quick about it.'

Molly couldn't help but laugh at the gobsmacked expression on John's face. He was so stunned that it was left to Molly to get the phone, more than happy to slide her hand slowly into his trouser pocket whilst kissing the side of his neck lightly.

Sherlock's head lifted from the microscope and he smiled at her before leaning in for a brief kiss, 'Mmm, maybe you can get off early tonight Doctor Hooper, I think with you as an incentive I might just solve this case earlier than expected.'

Molly heard John starting to question Sherlock as she took her coat and bag to her office, hearing Sherlock's irritated replies trying ineffectually to keep John focused on the case.

 **Only one more wrap up chapter to go. Hope you enjoyed Molly wearing Sherlock out; the smut just didn't seem to want to stop flowing. Until next time xx**


	9. Epilogue

**Here we are at the end of yet another story..sob. But fear not I have more to come. First a short Halloween fic and then another epic crime story.**

 **A warning here there be smut including references to shhhh (bum sex). I get told off if I don't give a warning.**

 **Epilogue**

It was twelve months after their first night together and Molly still hadn't quite gotten used to being 'with' Sherlock Holmes. It felt like she were living with a whirlwind at times, her old life of quiet nights in alone with Toby were a distant memory and Molly didn't miss them one little bit. Although she suspected Toby might as he slunk off once more to find a quiet corner away from a bored or hyper-active Consulting Detective.

Sherlock still regularly had the capacity to surprise her and this weekend was no different. He'd suddenly sprung on her, as she'd been finishing her shift, the fact that they were setting off for Paris in two hours. Luckily he'd asked Mrs Hudson to pack a weekend bag for her so all she had had to do was shower and change for the journey, but as they sat on the Eurostar a couple of hours later sipping wine she felt as though her head was still spinning.

The hotel was very expensive, very exclusive and very beautiful. Right in the heart of the City with views of the Eiffel Tower, it didn't get more romantic than this although she was still suspicious that it would all end up turning out to be them undercover for a case.

Sherlock sulked and pouted and looked hurt when she'd asked him and she'd eventually had to apologise and try to believe he had just done something purely romantic for her. Very unusual and very unlike him. She wasn't going to complain though; if he'd done something sweet she was going to make the most of it.

They spent the evening fairly quietly, just eating in a nearby cafe and taking a short walk so Molly could breathe in the sights and sounds. They were soon back in their hotel room but not for any nefarious purposes. Sherlock had just that morning finished a case that he'd been working on for well over a week and Molly knew how little he had slept or eaten in that time.

By the time she'd finished changing and brushing her teeth he was fast asleep and she had no intention of disturbing him; a good night's sleep was just what he needed.

In the morning Molly awoke first. It was a rare occurrence for her to be the first up and she relished the change sliding out of bed quietly so as to not wake him.

The light coming in through the wooden blinds was a soft, golden yellow and cast a beautiful glow over the sleeping detective. She so rarely had an opportunity to sketch him whilst he was this motionless. Normally he'd be fidgeting and complaining; asking her how much longer he needed to keep still.

She sat on the wide, cushioned window seat by the bed and got to work but her peace was short lived. Ten minutes later he commented without even opening his eyes, 'it's not like you to be awake first, Molly.'

She smiled at him even though he still had his eyes closed, 'no I know, but I was just too excited. I've never been to Paris before and for that matter I've never had a chance to draw you whilst you're asleep. You're much more compliant that when I try to draw you awake.'

He lazily opened his eyes and looked up at her, one eyebrow raised, 'that's because it's boring.'

Molly put her sketch pad down and knelt on the bed, 'so where are we going first? Maybe to the top of the Eiffel Tower or to the Louvre?'

'Neither. You Molly Hooper are coming back to bed and waking me up properly.'

He leant forwards and tugged on her wrist until she unbalanced and fell on top of him. He captured her mouth in a slow kiss, 'mm, just how I like it...you on top!'

She slapped his arm lightly but soon kissed him back. They may have been together for a year but Molly would never get used to the thrill of being with him. There were still some mornings where she awoke feeling confused about where she was or with a feeling of dread that it had all been a dream.

It had been strange letting their friends and family know and even stranger moving into Baker Street. Life with Sherlock was not all plain sailing; he could be obnoxious, selfish and grumpy especially when he was between cases. But he was also loyal and fascinating and surprisingly loving. He would never fail to kiss her before she left for work or when she got back and God forbid if he thought any of her friends or colleagues was taking advantage of her; that was a right it seemed only reserved for him. She wasn't shy about calling him out on his behaviour though and he was gradually improving.

He would even spend hours massaging her shoulders or her feet after any particularly arduous days at work although it was embarrassing how often those massages ended in sex. And they certainly had an active sex life. That new flush of a relationship showed no sign of letting up. He was always so good though, she'd never been with a man who made her orgasm as much as he did.

Even now he had one hand woven into her hair tilting her head perfectly so he could thoroughly kiss her, his tongue chasing her own. His other hand massaging her breast and his hips pushing his deliciously hard cock against her making her squirm and buck needing to feel more.

Her hands were roaming over his bare chest. She relished feeling his body, those gorgeous muscles dancing under her fingertips. It wasn't long before he'd pulled her brand new, cream silk negligee off over her head. At the same time Molly had pushed his pyjama trousers down enough to free him, hearing him groan as she got him off with her hand using his cock to stimulate her clit so that by the time he entered her she was so ready for him she knew it wouldn't take much more to make her climax.

She loved the feel of him stretching her inner walls, could feel him pulsing inside her. His mouth and hands were on her breasts now, kneading and biting knowing how much she enjoyed those sensations, helping her climax to build. Occasionally he was silent during sex but that was rare. Normally he would talk to her; his deep baritone doing as much to turn her on as his body was. He said such filthy, dirty things to her; things she would never have thought she would hear him say. How good her cunt felt, how hard his prick was, how wet she was and how much he was going to enjoy fucking her. He left her a writhing, desperate mess every time before he gave her the satisfaction she needed and more often than not by the time they had finished Molly would have come twice and sometimes even three times. He considered himself a failure if she had only orgasmed once.

Today was no exception as Molly felt her climax overtake her he was already playing with her bum knowing it would be a sure fire way to have her orgasm a second time. Whilst they'd never gone so far as full anal sex (Molly was still too nervous) he had taken to pushing his forefinger up her ass when she was on top and the feeling of him entering her twice was unbelievably sexy.

By the time they had finished they both needed a shower, enjoying bathing each other, laughing as Sherlock had to almost kneel down in order for Molly to be able to wash his hair; his mouth chasing her nipple as she did it but grimacing when he ended up tasting soap suds instead.

They eventually managed to leave their hotel room just before lunch and ended up staying out for the rest of the day sight-seeing. Sherlock had been to Paris many times before although never for leisure but he had plenty of less well known sights that he was able to show Molly.

They briefly came back to the hotel to change for dinner and enjoyed sitting in a romantic French restaurant watching the world pass by. Afterwards Sherlock suggested a stroll and Molly was happy to go along with it.

It was only when he led them up to the gates of a grand old house that now seemed to be some kind of museum that Molly realised that Sherlock was up to something. He spoke in rapid, perfect French to the security guard on the gate and though Molly's French was basic it appeared the guard knew who he was and had been expecting them.

They were taken through the beautifully, ornate grounds and then up the steps and into the main building. It was here that the guard left them with another flurry of French.

'Where are we Sherlock? What's going on?' Molly found herself whispering as they made their way through the rooms past various sculptures and art work. The place was clearly closed to the public at the moment and she had no idea why they were there or how they had gotten in.

'There's something here I wanted you to see and Mycroft owes me a few favours so for once I called one in.'

'So they've opened this place just for us?'

'Well, it's open to the public during the day but I didn't want to come with everyone else. I wanted it to be just the two of us.' Just then they entered a large exhibition hall and Molly gasped as she recognised the main sculpture in the centre lit by some up lights set into the floor.

Sherlock unlinked their arms and watched as she stepped forwards holding a hand over her mouth as she recognised the original of The Kiss; the statue that had been instrumental in bringing them together all those months ago. He followed her in.

She turned back to him briefly, 'oh Sherlock, it's beautiful.'

As she turned back towards the sculpture he finally admitted to her that he had followed her that day in London when she had visited the replica statue in the Tate Modern and how his reaction to her and to the statue had made him recognise his feelings for her 'and so Molly, I thought it was only fitting that this be where I propose.'

As Molly turned back to him looking, if possible, even more shocked than she had before, he dropped smoothly to one knee in front of her and reached into his pocket to bring out the ring he had chosen for her a couple of weeks back.

He looked up into her bright, tear-filled eyes as he asked her to be his wife.

'Oh my God Sherlock, I can't believe you would do something so romantic. I never thought you would be the marrying type let alone propose here like this.'

'Well, to be honest I was going to ask you in the morgue but when I mentioned it to John he said that idea was in his words 'not good'. Anyway Mary helped me to come up with this as a more suitable alternative.'

Molly giggled, 'well, maybe it was a bit not good but I wouldn't have minded. It would have been very us. But this Sherlock this is perfect.' She looked around at the sculpture again feeling the emotion of the night start to overwhelm her. It was only a huff from Sherlock which brought her back to the present.

'Yes well this is all well and good Molly but I have to admit my knee is now aching and I believe it is social convention to give an answer when you've been given a proposal.'

Molly smiled at his disgruntlement, 'yes, oh God of course it's yes.'

With that he stood back up, grinning widely as he took the ring from its red velvet box and slid it onto her finger. It fit her perfectly, but then of course he would know her measurements; he was Sherlock Holmes.

Molly looked down at her finger feeling overwhelmed with emotion.

'Hey Molly, are you still with me?' He used his hand under her chin to lift her head so she was looking him in the eye. She nodded as tears of joy leaked from her eyes watching as he bent his head to hers to kiss her.

The whole weekend had been perfect and now here she was engaged to marry the only man she had ever truly loved. She kissed him back enjoying the feel of his arms around her holding her to him knowing now that he would never let her go. They had been drawn together by fate and Molly vowed that nothing would ever tear them apart, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health; always...always.

 **Apologies to anyone who knows Paris well. I had only maps and websites to go off and couldn't seem to find any information in English about where in the museum the statue of The Kiss is so I had to use my imagination.**

 **Let me know if you liked the ending and if you ever have a prompt for a future story let me know, I'm open to ideas.**


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